Only Women Bleed
by TrivialQueen
Summary: Thomas was ten the first time his father hit him.


Only Women Bleed

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Disclaimer: I am not a Theologian, a Historian, or a TV Producer; I therefore do not own any thing. _Only Women Bleed, _Alice Cooper.  
Pairing: None – Thomas Cromwell  
_Note: A complete AU, my interpretation of what Cromwell's life was like before he ran away from home. For reference his Father's name is Walter and his mother's name is Joanne. His older sisters are out of the house when the majority of this occurred, both being significantly older than him.

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_

_Man's got his woman to take his seed  
He's got the power - oh  
She's got the need  
She spends her life through pleasing up her man  
She feeds him dinner or anything she can_

He'd only wanted to be helpful. That was all. At six years old that was all a boy wanted to be – to be of use, to please his parents. To be told he was a good boy. So when he heard his mother cry out in pain Thomas padded down the hall to the master bedroom to see if he could help. He pushed the door open a crack and peered into the room. His mother was bent over the foot of the massive master bed, his father holding her by the hair, his large feet keeping her small bare ones spread wide. His pants around his ankles he thrust roughly against her bottom, free hand swinging through the air to land against her butt cheek with a resounding _crack_. Thomas pushed into the room.

"Daddy? What are you doing?" He asked, taking a step towards his father. "Mommy?" She turned to face him, her eyes filled with tears, pain etching lines across her face.

"Thomas! Thomas get out of here! Right now! Right Now Young Man!" She shifted all of her weight to one arm so that she could point towards the door. Walter gave her scarlet hair a firm yank, he could hear some of it ripping. He took another step.

"Mommy, are you alright. Mommy, what's going on?" More tears.

"Mommy's fine, Thomas, Mommy's fine. Go to bed, please, just go to bed." Walter bucked harder into his bride and bellowed, yanking her upright as he bowed into her. Joanne screamed. Thomas ran, ran all the way to his room and hid under the covers. He cried. He cried himself to sleep. It was the first time he realized his Father was not like other Daddies.

_She cries alone at night too often  
He smokes and drinks and don't come home at all  
Only women bleed  
Only women bleed  
Only women bleed_

_Man makes your hair gray  
He's your life's mistake  
All you're really lookin' for is an even break_

She was crying. He could hear it all the way in his room. He could hear the bed shaking with her sobs. This was not the first night Joanne had spent crying into her pillow. Without leaving his room Thomas knew what his mother would look like. She would be lying on her left side, knees brought up to her chin, arms wrapped around her shins, red head buried in her knees. Her light brown eyes blurred with tears. She would be wearing the same soiled dress that she had cleaned the house in, what would be one more rip to an already heavily mended bit of cloth? She would be waiting, each chime of the hour making her sobs grow. She was waiting. Eventually, sometime in the wee hours of tomorrow the door would crash open. The smell of beer would permeate the air. His father would be home. He would move heavily up the stairs and into the bedroom. That would be the beginning of the noises that he 'would just have to ignore', as his mother put it. Sometimes they would last an hour, sometimes a little less, sometimes a little longer, sometimes they would stop and start again later. And then, once the worst was over the house would fall silent, except for the soft sound of crying.

_He lies right at you  
You know you hate this game  
He slaps you once in a while and you live and love in pain  
_  
_She cries alone at night too often  
He smokes and drinks and don't come home at all  
Only women bleed  
Only women bleed  
Only women bleed  
Only women bleed  
Only women bleed  
Only women bleed  
Only women bleed_

Thomas was ten the first time his father hit him. He'd thought himself a man, man enough to stand up to his father when he came home drunk – again. And headed for the master bedroom where Joanne was already crying. Thomas was so tired of his mother crying, of his father being the reason for it. He was sick of being told to go to bed, that she was fine. That he was too young to understand and that he should just go to sleep – that he should stay in his room. So when Walter came home Thomas was up, waiting for him. He had a little speech prepared. He stood in the Kitchen and waited. Waited all night until finally, at three in the morning, Walter skulked through the door. Thomas didn't even get his first words out, Walter took one look at him and with the back of his hand sent his only son flying across the room.

Thomas was tall for his age, but not nearly as tall, nor as wide as his father. Walter followed his son's trajectory and picked the boy up as if he were a rag doll.

"Think yer man enough ta take meh boy?" Walter slurred before slamming Thomas' face into the wall, fracturing his nose. He was then thrown back across the room, vision blurred with blood. He couldn't see but he could hear. Hear his mother come down the stairs, hear her cries.

"You promised! You promised Walter! Promised you'd leave him alone!" She said it over and over again _you promised, you promised, you promised._ That was until the crack of hand against cheek silenced her. Thomas whipped the blood from his eyes to see Walter haul his wife up by the hair. Father looked at son. He spat, hitting Thomas in the chest.

"Yer WEAK." He snarled before dragging Joanne up the stairs to their room. Leaving Thomas on the floor defeated.

_Black eyes all of the time  
Don't spend a dime  
Clean up this grime  
And you there down on your knees begging me please come  
Watch me bleed_

He was twelve, hardly more than a child. His day had been spent as many other were –away from home. Of late his time out of the house was spent with Little Elizabeth Wyckes, a precocious girl of eight whom Thomas liked very much. She made him laugh, made him think, made him forget how poor they were and how rough life was. Eventually Little Beth had to return home, he could not spend all of his time with her. As much as he desired it.

He could hear the shouts from outside the rundown pile of bricks he called home. The shatter of glass, the tear of flesh. He raced inside desperate to protect his mother, but it was too late.

"I'm gunna kill you, you fucking good for-nothing whore!" Walter had a big, deep voice that shook the rafters when he was drunk. Joanne had the voice of a mouse, except this night. This night she roared.

"Not if I do it first!" She shrieked. There was a scuffle, a gasp and a thud. Thomas flew up the stairs. He found his mother in the hall, a knife from the kitchen through her throat, thin hand on the hilt, his father standing over her.

Their eyes locked. Walter dove and Thomas ran, he ran as fast as he could, out of the house and into the streets. Walter followed. Thomas could remember nothing else until he woke up days later in the back of Wyckes Tailors, Elizabeth dabbing his forehead. He remained with the Wyckeses until his wounds healed, but eventually he was forced to return to his father's house. He did not remain there a moment longer than he had to and at a tender age he ran away to war. The kill or be killed way of life already familiar to him...

_Only women bleed  
Only women bleed  
Only women bleed  
Only women bleed  
Only women bleed  
Only women bleed  
Only women bleed_


End file.
